


Vinny makes a mean breakfast

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Vinny gets a life [21]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4953643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What, she couldn’t bring her own fucking pyjamas?” Anton says, half under his breath.</p><p>“I know you think you’re quietly being snide and jealous, but we can all hear you,” Megan calls back, and Anton goes pink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vinny makes a mean breakfast

Thomas wakes up to Megan snoring in his ear, a minute before his alarm goes off. He shuts it off and shakes Megan’s shoulder gently. 

Megan groans at him.

“Breakfast, Zombie Meg?” Thomas asks.

“Coffee,” she mumbles, and then goes back to sleep.

She doesn’t have to head out until afternoon, so he leaves her to it, gets the coffee percolating before he goes to take a shower. She wakes up when he provides coffee, though she still doesn’t seem happy about it. He’s used to it. Megan’s not really human until she’s been awake for at least half an hour.

“Breakfast,” Thomas says, wiggling his fingers at her.

“Fine,” Megan says, and gets up, shuffling downstairs with one hand cupped protectively around her mug, the other hitching Thomas’ pyjama pants up. “How is it that you have no hips and these are still falling down?” Megan asks, and then, not waiting for his answer, “oh right, ass.”

“Thanks Meg,” Thomas says. “Always appreciate comments about my ass.”

“If it wasn’t gigantic I wouldn’t make them,” she says, prim, and then tries to tie the pant strings one-handed, which goes about as well as Thomas would have expected. Better, actually, because she doesn’t spill coffee all over herself.

“It’s not gigantic,” Thomas mumbles to himself. He doesn’t have to get his pants custom tailored, like some people he knows — that some people being like half the Habs roster. Carmen even makes fun of him for having a small ass, though he doesn’t think that argument would impress Meg.

Thomas goes to check if Anton wants breakfast, but his room’s empty. His car’s still in the garage, though, Thomas double checks, which means he went for a run — Thomas is sure their trainers would have something to say about the potential ice, though Westmount gets salted like clockwork — before going to the gym, so Thomas figures he’ll make enough for the three of them. 

Megan’s made it all the way to the kitchen, and is even sitting up, if you count slumping on the island to be sitting up. Thomas figures he’ll be generous. He sticks some toast in the toaster, pours himself a cup of coffee.

“What do you feel like?” Thomas asks.

“I feel like shit,” Meg moans.

Thomas narrows his eyes at her. “I know you know that wasn’t the question,” he says.

“Eric was right about everything,” Megan says, making a face at the toast Thomas puts on her plate, so he takes the pieces and puts one on his, and one on Anton’s. 

“You went from completely gluten-free to four beers and toast,” Thomas says. “And I bet you had beer and a pretzel at the game.”

“You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?” Megan asks mournfully. “You’re a bad person.”

Thomas kisses the top of her head. “What do you feel up to?”

“I dunno, everything good has gluten,” Megan says. “Why is this my life?”

“I’ll make buckwheat pancakes,” Thomas says.

“Don’t mean to insult your English,” Megan says, “but they literally have ‘wheat’ in the name.”

“But no gluten,” Thomas says. 

“That’s stupid,” Megan says.

“They’re good,” Thomas promises. “They’re Tony’s favourite.”

“Well if _Anton_ likes them,” Megan says, with far too much sarcasm.

Anton comes in while Thomas is multitasking making pancakes and nibbling the toast before it gets soggy and cold. Anton won’t want his toast anyway, if there’s pancakes. 

“Buckwheat pancakes,” Thomas says.

“Pass,” Anton says, already halfway up the stairs.

“Sit down and eat breakfast,” Thomas snaps, and then, embarrassed with himself, “Please. You have to have breakfast if you’re going to work out after this.”

Anton comes into the kitchen, sitting beside Megan on the island and staring at her, askance, since she still has her head on the marble.

“Hangover?” he asks, finally.

“Gluten,” Megan moans. “I’m gonna die.”

Anton frowns, then looks at Thomas, clearly waiting for an explanation. 

“She went gluten-free,” Thomas says. “And then she drank beer and ate toast and probably a pretzel.”

“And you didn’t stop me,” she moans.

“Oh,” Anton says. “Guess that’s why you’re making pancakes, then. You don’t usually.”

“Yep,” Thomas says. “Can’t do it too much, you’ll get sick of them.”

“I wouldn’t,” Anton says, smiling at him for what feels like the first time in days. “I like your pancakes.”

“Gross,” Megan groans, and Anton stops smiling.

Thomas wishes her head wasn’t on the island so he could scowl at her.

“If you’re feeling sick maybe you shouldn’t be drinking coffee,” Anton says.

“Take it from me and I’ll give you something real to sulk about, Murder Eyes,” Megan says.

Thomas hides his smile in his own mug. “Coffee, Tony?” he asks, just to interrupt Anton’s glare at the back of Meg’s head.

“No,” Anton says, short, so Thomas puts the kettle on and takes the tea bags out.

Megan doesn’t eat very much, but Anton eats enough to make up for her, which is a pretty good sign that Thomas made the right choice in making sure he ate breakfast. He gave Thomas a weird look when he set a teapot and a cup in front of him, but he drank most of the pot too, because Thomas knows shit, okay, he’s figured out breakfast, and Anton’s cranky when he hasn’t had caffeine.

He can just picture Meg saying he’s cranky no matter what, but Meg doesn’t actually know everything, and she doesn’t know Anton like Thomas does. Anton without caffeine is without a doubt the worst Anton ever. Even Thomas can’t stand him, which is why he knows exactly how to make his coffee, tea, and in worst case scenarios, which energy drinks he won’t turn his nose up at. They have a whole system, and he won’t mention it to Meg because it would give her ammo, but when the word ‘hangry’ got popular he got excited since it’s exactly the word he needed to describe Megan’s moods, so he learned to be prepared from her first.

“Okay,” Megan says. She had to pull her head up to eat, and she’s keeping it up, so that’s good. “I don’t think I’m going to throw up, so we’re good.”

“Nice thing to say about his cooking,” Anton mutters.

Megan rolls her eyes at Thomas, and Thomas avoids getting involved, just takes her plate.

“Everything was delicious, Tommy Boy,” she says, getting up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You should always be making me breakfast.”

“Your pants are falling down,” Anton says.

Meg hitches them up, one-handed. “None of you have normal sized asses,” she says, wandering into the hall, towards the stairs. “Speaking of which, Vin, can you teach Eric your ways?”

“My ways?” Thomas asks.

“Your ass ways,” she says, waggling her fingers. “The ways of the big ass. Then I think him and I would be able to share pants. Instant money saver.”

“Twenty years of hockey?” Thomas asks. 

“Useless,” she mutters.

“What, she couldn’t bring her own fucking pyjamas?” Anton says, half under his breath.

“I know you think you’re quietly being snide and jealous, but we can all hear you,” Megan calls back, and Anton goes pink.

“I’m going to the gym,” he says, and doesn’t even bother to grab his gym bag, is out the door before Megan’s fully up the stairs.

She leans over the banister. “Douche,” she tells Thomas. “Not Connors level, but still a douche.”

“You were goading him,” Thomas says, unimpressed.

“It’s too easy,” she says. “It isn’t any fun.”

“Then maybe stop?” Thomas asks.

“Okay, it’s a little fun,” she says. “Show me how to work your shower so I don’t stand there like an idiot for five minutes.”

“You deserve to,” Thomas mutters.

“I heard that too!” she says. “Neither of you are good at snide asides. You deserve each other.”

Thomas shows her how to use the shower, and then, because it’s probably easiest, just gets it started himself, setting the temperature somewhere neutral, so she won’t freeze or get scalded, though frankly she probably deserves it. He likes pranks, but it isn’t a prank if you’re annoyed, it’s just retaliation, and it’s mean.

“I lied, before,” Megan says. “He doesn’t deserve you at all.”

“Go away,” Thomas groans.

“I’m the one taking the shower,” Megan says. “You go away.”

She’s got a point, so Thomas shuffles out. 

Megan’s feeling better, post shower, and it’s an unseasonably warm day, so they wander around the neighbourhood, Thomas buying Megan a Habs toque when she complains about cold ears, and she rolls her eyes at him but wears it, slapping at his hand the third time he flicks the pom pom on top. 

When she leaves Thomas tucks her under his chin, holds on tightly enough he’d worry he was clinging, if she wasn’t holding back just as tightly. 

“If we have time next month Eric and I can come up,” Meg says into his chest. “Maybe I can convince Eric to flirt with you too. Give Anton something to really bitch about.”

“You’re awful,” Thomas says, squeezing her tighter.

“I know you don’t believe me,” Megan says, “but people don’t act like that with their best friends if there isn’t something else going on. Even weirdos like Anton.”

“Meg,” Thomas says, letting go.

“Okay,” she says, holding her hands up, “dropping it. I really wish you’d talk to someone about it, though.”

“Yeah, well,” Thomas says.

“Yeah, well,” she mimics, and takes his punch to her shoulder with equanimity, allows him to adjust the toque so the pom pom sits perfectly. “It drives Eric nuts that I come home with Habs gear every time,” she says.

“Does it?” Thomas asks.

“That’s my boy,” she says, “rocking the innocent look for mischievous purposes.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thomas says.

“Be good,” she says.

“I always am,” Thomas says.

“I know,” she says, “that’s why I worry.”

Thomas can’t begin to figure out what that’s supposed to mean. In the end, he decides not to try.


End file.
